


tomorrow, you'll still be here

by slytherincosette



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Humor, Because fuck canon, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, M/M, OH mention of eddie's severed arm??, TECHNICALLY cheating but it's just on myra so who cares, Total fix it fic, because i'm incapable of writing anything entirely serious, fuck myra lives, so i guess i'll tag, stan's still dead tho sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherincosette/pseuds/slytherincosette
Summary: “Eds--”If Eddie had any energy left, he’d laugh. But his body is impossibly tired and his mind is slowing down, sticky and stuck like syrup. He coughs, once, and Richie lets out something that sounds like a sob. “Don’t call me that,” Eddie says, as everything starts slipping away. The last thing he sees is the raw panic in Richie’s gold-flecked eyes.I love you,Eddie thinks, says, “You know I--”-short fix-it fic where eddie survives, and richie is there waiting when he wakes up.





	tomorrow, you'll still be here

**Author's Note:**

> and the nightmares and monsters,  
> your biggest fears  
> seem lightyears away.  
> no, they won't find you here.  
> -july, boy

Eddie is bleeding out on a grimy floor, deep inside the sewers of his bleakest nightmares. His right arm is no longer attached, lying at an awkward angle a few feet away. 

It’s less than ideal.

Richie’s face hovers above him, dirty and tear-streaked and the most beautiful thing Eddie’s ever seen. Messy curls matted to his forehead and shirt ripped at the collar. He’s got Eddie pulled tight against his chest, rocking like it’ll help Eddie drift off to sleep. God, Eddie’s probably bleeding all over him, that’s so fucking unsanitary. The outlines of Bev, Ben, Bill, lurk and shake in the background. But Eddie, Eddie’s looking at Richie. Nothing’s really changed, he guesses.

Except that he’s dying, and Richie will never _know_.

“Eds--”

If Eddie had any energy left, he’d laugh. But his body is impossibly tired and his mind is slowing down, sticky and stuck like syrup. He coughs, once, and Richie lets out something that sounds like a sob. “Don’t call me that,” Eddie says, as everything starts slipping away. The last thing he sees is the raw panic in Richie’s gold-flecked eyes. _I love you,_ Eddie thinks, says, “You know I--”

-

Eddie wakes up.

It’s unexpected, but not unwelcome.

The room is sterile, but not cold. Pictures of flowers line the walls. There’s a painting of a little sparrow directly across from Eddie’s bed, and it makes him think of Stanley. A beeping noise from somewhere to his left alerts him to the fact that he is, most likely, in a hospital.

What a regular fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes he is.

Eddie closes his eyes for a moment, sucks in a deep breath. He is alive. He can’t feel his right arm, because his right arm is no longer attached. There’s only a dull ache and a phantom pain and a lot of nausea. 

Eddie opens his eyes.

Bev is sprawled in a chair by the door, red hair falling in her face, snoring lightly. Beside her is Ben, their fingers loosely entwined. He’s on the floor, head resting against the white wall behind him. He’s awake, Eddie can tell by the shallow way his chest rises and falls, but his eyes are squeezed shut like he’s afraid to open them and remember where he is.

(Eddie can relate to that.)

And half-sprawled across the edge of the bed, curly head resting just inches away from Eddie’s (only, _fuck_ ) hand, is Richie.

His eyes are closed, quiet tears leaking from big brown eyes underneath heavy lids. His arm is stretched out, contorted, so that his hand can rest on Eddie’s knee. His chair is pushed so close against the hospital bed that Eddie’s left wondering how exactly Richie is able to breathe. Without thinking, he reaches out and twists his fingers gently into Richie’s hair.

Richie’s eyes snap open. “Eddie?”

Eddie offers something close to a smile. “Hey, Rich.”

“Oh my God,” Richie chokes out, like his voice has suddenly stopped working for the first time in the history of ever, “Oh my god, Eddie.”

Eddie barely has time to move his hand out of the way before Richie is shooting straight up, looking harried and wild, eyes wide and bright. There’s a crease from the bed sheets on his cheek and his glasses are precariously crooked. Bev jolts awake and nearly trips over Ben in her effort to get to the bed.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, because he doesn’t really want to know but he needs to.

“We won,” Richie tells him, and his smile is radiant. 

All of the tension releases from Eddie’s body. What’s left of Eddie’s body. Holy shit, he’s missing an arm. The heart monitor starts beeping erratically and oh, cool. Eddie’s panicking.

Richie surges forward, presses the foreheads together. One of his hands goes to the back of Eddie’s neck and the other ends up cupping his face. “Hey, sweetheart, breathe with me, okay? You’re okay, you’re safe. Everyone is safe.”

“Richie--”

“I know, Eds, it’s okay--”

“No, _Richie_ ,” Eddie insists, hand moving up to brush against Richie’s cheek. “You don’t know, you don’t, and I have to _tell you._ ”

Richie pulls back a little, serious and concentrated in a way he only really knows how to be with Eddie. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see Beverly and Ben back slowly away, exchanging a _look._ “Tell me what?”

“ _You know I love you_ ,” Eddie says, fingers brushing at the hair falling over Richie’s eyes, “That’s what I was trying to tell you when I--when I. That’s what I was trying to say. I love you, Rich.” And Richie, Richie starts crying again. Eddie laughs at him because he can’t help it. “You big fuckin’ baby--”

“Shut up, Kaspbrak,” Richie says, and he kisses Eddie until he’s breathless. The heart monitor goes haywire and Bev snorts loudly, tries to cover it quickly with her hand. Ben looks at her fondly, his hand resting on the small of her back. 

A nurse barges in but stops short when she realizes what exactly is making Eddie’s heart do _that_. She coughs lightly, sends Bev and Ben an embarrassed smile, and quickly excuses herself. Richie laughs, loud and open, and Eddie leans forward to rest his head against Richie’s shoulder. 

“I love you, too,” Richie tells him, pressing a quiet kiss to Eddie’s temple. He pulls Eddie closer, so gentle that Eddie could cry, careful to avoid Eddie’s...bad side. Fuck. He’ll figure that out later.

“You fuckin’ better,” Eddie mumbles, “I threw myself at a demon for you.”

Richie’s breath hitches, and he presses his face into Eddie’s hair. “I really wish you hadn’t.”

“I’d do it again,” Eddie says, stubborn as always. “I’d do anything to keep you safe, Richie, you have to know that.”

“And I would--”

“Guys,” Ben interrupts gently, “You’re both here. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, Richie, don’t ruin my big romantic declaration.”

“Yeah, well, I’m Trashmouth Tozier. I ruin everything.” 

Eddie pulls away, narrowing his eyes. Richie’s tone is light and his eyes are warm, teasing, but Eddie will not stand for that kind of slander. He grabs Richie by the chin, says, “You’ve only ever made me better.”

Richie melts a little, grinning lopsidedly like a dope. “Goddamn. Who knew Eds was such a sap?”

“Everyone that’s ever heard him talk about you,” Beverly offers. 

“I would throw that empty pudding cup at you, but I only have one arm.”

“Allow me.” Richie grabs the cup from Eddie’s little side table and chucks it at Bev. Chocolate splatters across her t-shirt. Bev looks decidedly unimpressed.

Eddie laughs because he can’t help it. Everything is simultaneously terrible and the best it's ever been. He’s missing an arm, Stan is still dead, Eddie has no idea where Bill is or if Mike is okay. No one’s crying, so he feels he can safely assume that Bill and Mike are at least mostly fine, but. There’s always a but, isn’t there? Always something to ruin whatever small happiness Eddie has managed to scavenge for himself.

Fuck _that_.

Eddie’s been given a second chance at life and he’s not wasting a goddamn second of it.

So he tilts his head towards Richie, says, innocently, “Guess that means you’re my right-hand man?”

The entire room freezes. Ben looks vaguely scandalized and Bev appears to be struggling over whether or not she’s allowed to laugh.

Richie gapes, then, “Oh my god, you little _shit_. I love you so much I could cry. I’m going to marry you.”

Both of Eddie’s eyebrows go up into his hairline. “I’m technically already married.”

Richie waves a hand. “Semantics. It’ll be fine.”

He says it with so much confidence that Eddie thinks, yeah. Maybe it will be.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, friends! leave a comment if u liked it. or don't, i'm not your mom.


End file.
